


so i bet all i have on that furrowed brow

by SarcasticSargassum



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First "I love you", First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I Love You, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 04, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Snippets, The Lonely - Freeform, its there for like 2 seconds i dont even feel comfy tagging it angst, theres a vague theme of smell being used as a metaphor for safety but idk how to tag that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:09:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26399197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarcasticSargassum/pseuds/SarcasticSargassum
Summary: Moments of safety are few and far between, so why not cherish them when they come?Title from Me and My Husband by Mitski, which is what I listened to on repeat while writing this.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 11
Kudos: 100





	so i bet all i have on that furrowed brow

Daisy’s safehouse key seared a brand into Jon’s palm as he clutched it tight, burning away the fog that followed them. When they stumbled through the cabin door, scarred but laughing and clutching each other and  _ alive _ , Jon finally felt himself start to relax. 

The air smelled like it hadn’t been breathed in years- until two bodies fumbled their way through it, one tripping over the other’s feet in its excitement. Jon’s shoulder hit the floorboards, stirring up a cloud of dust, and he sneezed. From the look on Martin’s face, he’d just hung the moon in the sky.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re- you’re just so-  _ good _ ,” Martin enthused, tripping over his words like they couldn’t wait to get out of his mouth.

“You’re ridiculous,” Jon grumbled, turning away to hide his smile. 

“You love it,” Martin said without thinking, only realizing when the words left his mouth. It wasn’t how he’d wanted to say it, rushed and breathless and collapsed on the floor that he was  _ sure _ was giving him splinters. 

“Yes. Yes, I- I do.” Jon exhaled, smiling up at him. “I love you, Martin.”

And all of a sudden Martin felt rather silly- after all the words that had filled their lives before, what was one more exhaled in the comfort of home? Jon’s eyes were gentle when he looked into them, shining brighter than the scraps of moonlight filtering through the window should allow.

“I love you too, Jon.” 

* * *

It was technically the eleven thousand, two hundred and forty-ninth morning of Jon’s life, but it felt like the first. He woke up-  _ he’d slept in the first place _ \- to the gentle heat of Martin’s body pressed against his. There was an arm crossed tightly across his chest, a  _ Keep Out _ sign for the rest of the world to obey. Jon examined it for a moment, watching the hairs on it define themselves in the early morning light, before carefully lacing his fingers through Martin’s. He could feel a smile unfurl into the top of his head and offered one of his own in return, even if Martin couldn’t see it. His hand squeezed a little tighter, and Martin squeezed back. 

They were both grimy from the trip, having fallen into bed with legs too weary to stand in a shower. The sheets had been sitting in a cupboard for years, and were reluctant to part with a single mote of dust. Martin’s breath, hot and tinged with the granola bar he’d scarfed down on the train ride last night, curled across the back of his neck.

It didn’t smell good, not really, but it smelled like home, and that was so much better. He was here, he was  _ safe _ , with Martin. That was more than enough.

* * *

“Jon, you’re going to have to let go eventually,” Martin laughed, tossing a handful of vegetables into the stew pot. “I don’t want to splash you.”

“Don’t care,” Jon mumbled, curling his fingers tight into the back of Martin’s jumper. He buried his face between Martin’s shoulder blades, breathing in deeply, but stopped short. “Is this… one of Daisy’s?”

“The jumper?” Martin shifted, looking down in confusion. “N-no, it’s definitely mine. Why, is everything okay?”

Jon mumbled softly, not sure how to form the words, not sure how to tell Martin that-

Martin had smelled like the sun. Specifically, the sun in fall, when leaves began to burn and the whole world was coated in a bit of gold dust. Jon could feel it seep through every time he hugged him, creeping through the layer of damp-paper must that settled into his skin. Martin had smelled like warmth. 

But- now he smelled like the sea, like an overcast, cloudy sky, like the first blast of chill after opening a freezer. Martin smelled cold. Even as his humming filled the brightly-lit kitchen and the stove burned merrily away, Martin smelled  _ cold _ , and Jon felt his chest tighten at the thought.

“Jon?” Martin turned around, placing his hands on his shoulders. “Jon, is- are you sure everything’s alright? I-I mean, not  _ everything _ , obviously, but-”

“No, no, it’s alright, just-” Jon swallowed the lump in his throat. “You- it’s stupid, but- you smell different.”

_ Like Peter,  _ he didn’t say.  _ Like a nosebleed before it happens, like seafoam ripped from the top of a wave.  _ Some small part of his mind dryly suggested Martin would like the more poetic way of saying it, but he couldn’t make the words leave his mouth without feeling his throat tighten around them.

“Like him,” he did say, pulling Martin closer.

“Oh,” softly, and then, “Oh.  _ Jon- _ ”

“I know it’s silly, probably a small tradeoff for what you- you could’ve given, but-”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Martin gently tilted Jon’s head up, meeting his eyes. “I’m still  _ me _ , Jon. I’m not that place anymore.” 

“I know.” Jon slumped into Martin’s chest. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Silence stretched around them, broken by the hiss of something boiling over. “...shit, that’ll be the stock. I really do need to get that.” Martin pulled away reluctantly, his lips brushing Jon’s forehead as he stood. “Then we can cuddle on the couch or something, alright?”

Jon smiled, pushing himself to his feet and pressing a last kiss to Martin’s cheek. “That sounds wonderful.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I promise I have some longer TMA fics in the works, but until then these drabbles are fun to write too. Don't get me wrong, I love plot-heavy dramatic tragedies, but sometimes you just need to scratch that denial itch, yaknow?
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please feel free to check out my other fics and find me on tumblr or tiktok(i know, i know, but im genuinely really proud of my cosplays and want to flex) at @genderlessgeek!
> 
> Have a lovely day/night/whenever you read this, and thank you so much for reading!!


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